


some of it was true

by imsosorry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lockdown AU, London, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsosorry/pseuds/imsosorry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just - Louis <i>wants</i> this, wants to let himself have it, just for today. Harry's too good to be true and London isn't going to be on lockdown forever, so it seems only fair to allow himself this while it's still in his reach. </p><p>(au. After a one night stand, London goes on lockdown and Harry and Louis are forced to spend the day together.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	some of it was true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teapotpourri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teapotpourri/gifts).



> This is for the lovely [teapotpourri](http://www.teapotpourri.tumblr.com/), based on this amazing prompt: 
> 
> "AU inspired by this (http://www.esquire.com/blogs/culture/lust-during-wartime) - It was just a drunken hook up but when the city was on lock down (here you're free to invent for whatever reason, although I'd prefer it if it was a UK setting) Harry and Louis get to know each other, and maybe it becomes much more than just a one night stand."
> 
> This is really very short and incredibly cheesy, but I hope you like it! 
> 
> **WARNINGS** : This whole story is based around a city on lockdown, so obviously there is some possibly triggering material. There are (fairly brief) references to a shooting and a criminal on the loose, though it's all non-graphic. 
> 
> (Title from a very short line in The Clash's "London Calling")

Louis is pretty sure his name is Harry.

 

It's not like - Louis doesn't have one night stands _that_ often, actually, and when he does, it's normally a heat of the moment thing, a split-second decision to split a cab back to someone's flat. This, though, had been calculated. He'd gone to the club last night with the express intention of picking up the fittest lad who would have him, and honestly, he's really outdone himself with maybe-Harry.

 

Maybe-Harry is fitter than Marcus, even. Louis's not deluding himself into thinking this was anything more than a one-time thing, but still. It's got to count for something that the very first rebound he tried for is so fucking fit.

 

It's just after seven in the morning, far earlier than Louis would be up at his own flat. But he's never been very good at sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, next to a mostly unfamiliar body, so his internal alarm clock is determined to wake him up. Normally, this would be about the time that he'd hastily pull on his clothes from last night and scribble a note thanking maybe-Harry for a fun time, only - he can't, exactly, because his phone's blown up with texts that all say he should do the exact opposite.

 

The first one came in from his mother at just after four a.m., when she would have had to wake up for her morning shift at the hospital. It's a simple: _Know you're probably still sleeping but let me know that you're safe when you can. Love you boo x_

 

His mum's a natural worrier, but she'd stopped sending him random check-in texts to see that he was still alive after his second year in London. It sort of freaks him out, actually, that and the fact that he's got four other texts waiting for him, all from Liam. They range from a pretty chill _Hey did you end up picking up tonight?_ to a more frantic-sounding _Lou plzzz let me know where you're at :///._ He'd told Liam his plan to pick up, and Liam had offered to go with him, only then something had come up with his girlfriend and he'd had to bail out. It hadn't really bothered Louis all that much; Liam is a terrible wingman.

 

The last message in his inbox is in advisory notice sent out by the London City Police. Louis hadn't even known he could get those; he's pretty sure he's never put his number on any sort of list. It's concise, and much more informative than his mother and Liam, a quick: _Unknown shooter at large in Central LDN. Suspect last seen at St James Sq. Citizens around scene are advised to remain indoors until area is cleared._

 

Jesus. Louis's not sure where maybe-Harry lives, but the club he went to last night was only a few blocks over from St. James, and he doesn't remember a long cab ride. In fact, he doesn't remember a cab ride at all, which means maybe-Harry's flat could be in the middle of the crime scene for all he knows. He's aware that staying for breakfast is breaking some kind of unspoken one night stand rule, but one night stand etiquette isn't something Louis is willing to die for.  

 

So he shoots a couple of texts to his mum and Liam, letting them know he's safe, and then to Eleanor, asking if the cafe's closed today. He hopes it is, because he's got a shift in two hours and doesn't really fancy taking the tube home to change into proper work clothes.

 

Maybe-Harry is out like a light, so after Louis sets down his phone, he takes a few moments to watch him. He's got curly hair that's falling in long locks all over his pillow, and his eyebrows are scrunched together kind of adorably. He hasn't got a shirt on, and his right arm is extended over Louis's side of the bed, nearly grazing his side. He can't remember if they fell asleep spooning or if they'd just fallen together that way in the night.

 

The room is nice, too. It's much cleaner than Louis's room at home, crisp and organized, like something out a home design catalogue. He's got dozens of neat picture frames hung all along his walls - every single one seems to be with a different group of people, which leads Louis to believe he's unintentionally slept with the most popular man in London. He glances at maybe-Harry again, double-checking that he hasn't accidentally gone home with a pop star or something. Louis definitely doesn't recognize him from anywhere.

 

After a couple minutes of that, he decides there's not much point of lying around in bed, and maybe-Harry doesn't look like he's going to wake up any time soon, so Louis carefully slides off the bed, pulls on his pants, and wanders off to take in the rest of the flat.

 

It's pretty small - just a nice living area with a little kitchenette attached to it, and a second room across a tiny hallway that must belong to maybe-Harry's flatmate - but it's all very posh and organized. The guy must be well-off, then. It's got a lived-in vibe that Louis likes, even though it's much different than the disaster zone of a flat he shares with Liam.

 

Louis helps himself to a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, though they've only got the weird organic whole grain kind. He holds off on making a pot of tea for a few minutes - he doesn't want the noise to wake maybe-Harry up - before inevitably giving in and doing it anyway. He never signed on to be a martyr. He tries to be quiet about it, and it seems to do the trick, because neither maybe-Harry nor his maybe-flatmate is roused.

 

He keeps himself occupied for a while, preparing his tea and wandering around the living room, examining the pictures on the wall. There are a lot out here, too, mostly of maybe-Harry and two women who appear to be his mum and sister. 

 

Finally, he just settles into the couch and turns the telly on at the lowest volume. He plans to find a local news station to see what's going on outside, but he doesn't have to; nearly every station is taken over with emergency notices. Mostly, they're showing aerial shots of St. James Square that pan out into shots of other areas of Central London that are eerily empty, even for this time of the morning. Nobody appears to be reporting on scene, and the only people outside are police officers. A banner is running across the screen with updating information, but there doesn't seem to be any new developments, as all it says is: _St. James shooting suspect still at large - three injured on scene - probable reason to expect other perpetuators involved - police are advising all residents to stay indoors - possible terrorist activity_.

 

It's enough to make Louis a little nervous.

 

He passes the time texting his mates who live in London, making sure they're all alright, and he gets enough replies to ease his nerves a bit. He considers texting Marcus, too, because even though they're officially over now, he still wants to make sure he's okay, but - No. Not going down that road. Definitely not.

 

He's just about to doze off on the couch when a weight plops down on the couch right beside him, nearly upending him from the cushion he was sprawled out on.

 

"Thought you'd gone," maybe-Harry says, grinning over at a still shell-shocked Louis. He's even more attractive in the daylight, which is sort of unfair. Louis is going to be trapped in this flat with a fit, half-naked guy for god knows how long. It's like the beginning to a porno he might have watched in secondary school, or some very twisted nightmare.  

 

"Nah," Louis says, pulling his knees up to his chest to make room on the couch. "Didn't really fancy going outside, what with all that going on." He motions to the telly, in case he hasn't seen, but maybe-Harry just nods easily.

 

"It's scary," he says, and then they're both quiet for a bit while they watch the news cycle. It's all redundant, depressing speculation, and Louis's is tempted to just turn it off, but he doesn't have to, because maybe-Harry does.

 

"God, that's awful," he says, and then turns to Louis. "You're Louis, right? Part-time barista studying law?"  

 

"That's me," Louis says, impressed that he'd remembered. They'd danced at the club for a while last night, but they hadn't exactly been exchanging pleasantries for most of it. "And you're...Harry," he says, hoping he's guessed right or at least that maybe-Harry isn't the type of guy who will kick him out for getting his name wrong.

 

"That's me," Harry says, all bright eyes and smirked lips. 

 

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but I made tea and had some cereal," Louis says. He sits up a bit, suddenly aware of the fact that he's made himself quite at home in a stranger's home without really asking. "You can totally send me out, mate, if you want that on your conscience."

 

Harry looks a bit offended. "Of course you can stay," he says. "If I'm going to be locked in my flat all day, I'm certainly not going to turn down company."

 

And that's how it starts.

 

 

*

 

Harry's the one who pulls out the board games.

 

He's got quite a collection for a twenty-one-year-old living on his own (Louis discovers the extra room is just a spare) and is disproportionately excited to show them off. He pulls out Monopoly first, as if that isn't the worst idea in the entire world.

 

"No way," Louis says, shoving the box away like he's been burned. "I can't think of anything that will turn us against each other faster."

 

But it turns out Harry has some killer puppy dog eyes - more like frog eyes, really, but it works for him - so Louis ends up on the floor of the living room, wearing his boxers and a borrowed jumper, his token the top hat, because - "I'm _always_ the spindle, Louis, it's _tradition_."

 

Like most terrible things, it starts out okay, only then Louis discovers Harry's some kind of Monopoly mastermind. He buys property on half the board and loads it all up with hotels, making it nearly impossible for Louis to make it from Mayfair to Fleet Street without paying about a million pounds.

 

And it's not cute, because Louis is losing, which he hates, but also - Harry's so into the game, so serious about it, biting his lip and weighing out his options, and - fuck it, it's cute. It's cute. Louis's fucked.

 

"Are you cheating?" Harry asks suspiciously at one point, as Louis is taking the two hundred pounds from passing _Go_ out of the bank.

 

"Are you serious?" Louis asks incredulously. "I'm losing by like ten thousand pounds."

 

"Well, you're controlling the bank," Harry says. "You could be nicking extra money every time you pass _Go_ for all I know."

 

"If I was cheating, I assure you, I'd be winning," Louis says.

 

Harry eyes him shrewdly for a few seconds before letting it go and rolling the die.

 

Louis phone buzzes with a phone call about an hour into the game, and when he checks the screen, it flashes with _El._

"Sorry, got to take this," he tells Harry, setting down his pathetically low stack of money and walking into the kitchen to take the call. There's not a door, so Harry can most likely still hear him, but it does provide at least the semblance of privacy.

 

"Hey, El," he says quietly. "What's up?"

 

"Where are you?" Eleanor asks, sounding a little out of breath. Knowing her, she's probably abandoned all police warnings to go on her early morning jog. Or she's manically pacing around her flat. Either seems likely. 

 

"Umm," Louis says. "I'm at. Like, this guy's place. It's fine, I'm fine, don't worry."

 

"You're at _some guy's_ place?" Eleanor squawks, which is a little dramatic, considering she was the one who had advised him to go out and get laid in the first place. Eleanor had _hated_ Marcus, had been elated when Louis had come into work with the news that he was officially done with him. 

 

"Yeah, I went to a club last night," Louis says. "Listen, is my shift still on for later?"

 

"No, we're closed for today," Eleanor says dismissively. "Now tell me about this guy."

 

"He's in the next room," Louis whisper-hisses into the receiver. "I'll text you later, okay?"

 

"Alright," Eleanor agrees. There's a pause down the line, and then she goes uncharacteristically serious. "Hey. Don't go out, alright? Be careful. Our whole strip of shops is completely closed down for today. Police orders."

 

"I will be," he says, trying to process that. "You too."

 

When he goes back into the living area, Harry's cat - which appears to have been produced out of nowhere - has knocked over the Monopoly board. Harry's got the cat situated in his lap, and he's cooing to it, though the cat doesn't seem to be returning his affection, as it's straining out of his grip, looking murderous.

 

"Where the fuck did you get that from?" Louis asks, because really. He'd wandered around the flat for ages and hadn't caught a glimpse of it.

 

"Think she was hiding under my bed last night," Harry says with a shrug. "Her name's Molly. Molly, meet Louis. Louis, Molly."

 

And then he's holding the incredibly unimpressed cat up to Louis's face, and Louis just feels lucky Molly doesn't claw his face off. She appears to be sizing him up furiously. Harry holds out a paw for Louis to shake, and Louis looks at him like he's crazy, but does it anyway.

 

Then he raises a horrified hand to his chest.

 

"Wait. She was under the bed while we - you know?"

 

Harry doesn't seem to find this as troubling as Louis does, because he just shrugs and places Molly down on the couch. "She'll be alright," he says. "Though she did tear apart our Monopoly game."

 

"It's probably for the best," Louis concedes, still a little upset about what Harry's cat had been forced to witness.

 

"Who was on the phone?"

 

"My boss," Louis says. "My shift's been cancelled for today."

 

"My classes were cancelled, too," Harry says.

 

It's odd, being here, Louis realises. It already feels like he and Harry have created some kind of bubble apart from the outside world. When he'd woken up this morning and heard the news, it had kind of seemed like the world was ending, like nothing was safe. He realises that it's all forced, that the only reason he bothered to stay at all is because of a national emergency, but it's...comfortable here, with just him and Harry and apparently a cat. Safe. And dangerous, too, because it would be just like Louis to fall for the illusion of it all.

 

"I'm going to make a full English," Harry decides abruptly, and then sets off to the kitchen.

 

"A man after me own heart," Louis croons, but he follows Harry, sitting down on a barstool while Harry starts collecting the ingredients from the fridge. 

 

"I feel like I don't know anything about you," Harry says as he's chopping tomatoes. "That's weird, right? If we're going to be spending the lockdown together, we should at least know the basics."

 

He's put on a floral apron. Louis is fucked.

 

"Well, there isn't much to know," Louis says easily.

 

"Where are you from, originally? Your accent is very Yorkshire," Harry says.

 

"Well, we can't all be posh like you," Louis retorts. "Let me guess. Staffordshire?"

 

"Close. Cheshire," Harry says. "I already know that you're studying law. What do you plan to do with that?"

 

"Well, I was thinking lawyer," Louis teases.

 

"Shut up," Harry says, sticking his tongue out.  "You know what I meant."

 

Louis shrugs, though, because he really doesn't know. He'd gone into law because that's what his mother had suggested he do, and he doesn't hate it. He wasn't expecting the third degree from Harry and it's kind of throwing him off that he might be interested in Louis's life at all.

 

"What about you, then? What are you studying?"

 

"I'm studying business and music engineering," Harry says. "I want to be a music manager, or maybe a producer."

 

"Do you sing?" Louis asks. It wouldn't surprise him if he did. In Louis's limited experience, most attractive men are miraculously gifted with beautiful voices as well. And Harry's voice is pretty deep.

 

"Not well," Harry says, with the practiced bashfulness of someone who knows he's full of shit.

 

They go over the usual small talk while Harry makes breakfast. Louis learns that Harry's close to his mother and sister, who are both back home in Cheshire, and in return tells him about his five sisters and new baby brother. Harry seems to think that's incredible and demands to see pictures from Louis's phone, and then can't stop cooing over pictures of Doris and Ernest dressed in their Christmas clothes.

 

"I wish I had little siblings," Harry says. "I've got a goddaughter, Lux, though. I babysit her nearly every weekend; she's the cutest." He motions to a picture on his fridge of himself with a little blonde girl wearing a tutu on his shoulders, and Louis doesn't coo, but it's a close thing.

 

By the time breakfast is ready, Louis knows more about Harry than he would about someone he'd gone on three dates with. He wonders, vaguely, if this counts as a date, but then decides that's stupid. This is almost definitely a one-time thing for Harry. His memories of the club are hazy, and leaving and coming to Harry's flat had been a whirlwind of alcohol and sex, but nothing about their night together suggested a repeat performance. Except that it had been really, really good. But Harry's way out of his league, especially considering the calibre of his breakfast. 

 

"This is fucking excellent," Louis says after his first bite. It's nearly as good as his mother's fry up, which is certainly a high compliment. Harry's set the table, too, and poured Louis another cup of tea. It's certainly more than Marcus ever did for him, although it's probably not healthy to keep comparing the two. God. He's not good at this.  _This_ is why he doesn't have one-night-stands often: He gets too attached.

 

"It's the very first thing I learned to cook," Harry says. "I figured I could never live on my own if I didn't at least know how to make a decent fry up."

 

"Well, I manage to survive on Pop Tarts and Cocoa Puffs, but I admire your dedication," Louis says.

 

Harry laughs, even though it wasn't all that funny, which is one of Louis's favourite traits in a person. Harry's got a nice laugh too, big and cackly, like it can't all be contained in his body and he has to release it in a quick burst of energy.

 

"Do you think this is going to be one of those things where, like, in nine months, there's a ton of pregnancies?" Harry asks then, completely out of the blue.

 

Louis cocks an eyebrow. "What?"

 

"Like, you know how they always say after big storms, or like championship games or whatever, there's always more births nine months later? Because people fuck more? Do you think this'll be like that?"

 

Louis stares at him blankly. "Is that, like - I'm sorry, but is that a really weird come-on?"

 

Harry grins sheepishly. "I dunno. Is it working for you?"

 

And like. It's just - Louis wants this, wants to let himself have it, just for today. Harry's too good to be true and London isn't going to be on lockdown forever, so it seems only fair to allow himself this while it's still in his reach.

 

"Kind of is," Louis admits, and then he's pushing back from the table and walking back to Harry's bedroom.

 

Only a couple seconds later, Harry follows.

 

*

 

"God, you're fucking gorgeous," Harry breathes.

 

Louis tends to shy away from compliments in general, but right now he can't, considering Harry's got both of his hands pinned above his head on the bed, and his lips are trailing down Louis's neck. It's a little jarring to be called gorgeous by someone who looks like Harry does with his shirt off, but Harry's been pretty free with compliments since he wrestled a giggling Louis into the mattress. They've both shucked out of their shirts but are still wearing pants, and Louis can feel the outline Harry's cock against his thigh as he moves. It makes him whimper.

 

"Couldn't look away from you at the club," Harry goes on, and Louis can't really do anything but nod frantically. "Thought I'd won the fucking lottery when you came over to dance with me."

 

"Thought you were - cute," Louis gasps, just as Harry nibbles on his right collarbone.

 

Even though they've already had sex, Louis feels inexplicably nervous. Maybe because they were both drunk last night, or because there's daylight streaming in through the windows now, or because he knows this is quite possibly going to end in another disappointment for him.

 

"Harry, Harry, wait," he says, pulling back a little bit.

 

Harry stops right away and looks at him questioningly, pulling the sheet up to cover Louis in case he's changed his mind.

 

"This is - I mean, this is a one time thing, right?" Louis asks, needing confirmation. If he can get that through his head then maybe he won't have to leave feeling like he's lost something else.

 

"Well, technically a two time thing," Harry says cheekily. But then he frowns. "I mean - yeah, that's okay. If that's what you want?"

 

"I just got out of a kind of serious relationship," Louis says, feeling like he has to explain even though Harry hasn't asked.

 

Harry nods easily. "I'm not really looking for any kind of commitment either," he says, and Louis feels stupid for even bringing it up, because _of course_ he's not.

 

"Great," he says anyway, pulling Harry back down and reattaching their lips.

 

Harry's a great kisser, knows just how to work open Louis's lips and use his tongue to his advantage. It must trigger Louis's muscle memory, because suddenly he can remember details of last night that he'd lost in his hung-over haze: making out in the loos of the club, being pushed up against the door outside the flat while Harry fumbled for his keys, spending what seemed like _hours_ spread out on Harry's bed, just kissing.

 

He can't even remember the last time he'd spent so much time just kissing someone.

 

Eventually, Harry fishes a tube of lube and a string of condoms out of his nightstand, laying them by Louis's head.

 

"Do you wanna?" he asks. "We don't have to."

 

Louis rolls his eyes, grabs one of the condoms, and tears it open in one fluid motion. He hopes that will send the message.

 

"Of course I wanna," he says.

 

Harry's bigger than he remembers, daunting in the daylight. Last night, they'd swapped blowjobs and handjobs but had passed out before getting to the main event; now, there's nothing keeping them from it.

 

Louis has always loved foreplay, but had rarely found a partner who shared the same passion for it. Most guys just wanted to slip him a few fingers, enough to get him decently prepared, and then go right in. Harry, though, seems content to lazily finger Louis for _ages_. He keeps adding more lube to his fingers, adjusting his angle and scissoring them just right to drive Louis absolutely crazy. His fingers are long enough that they actually brush up against Louis's prostate, making Louis jerk forward and moan.

 

"Good?" Harry asks, wiping his brow with the hand that isn't currently three fingers deep in Louis.

 

"Yeah, good," Louis says, embarrassed that his voice is more than a little breathless. "M'good, m'ready now."

 

"How do you want it?" Harry asks. Right now, he's leaning against the headboard, Louis at his side. It would be easy to have him flip over and fuck Louis that way, but that isn't what Louis wants. Instead, he lifts up his right leg so that he's straddling Harry and then smirks.

 

"Wanna ride you," he says. It's his bedroom voice, the one he always thought sounded a little stupid but that men seem to love.

 

It seems to work for Harry, who groans and tilts his head back unconsciously, knocking it against the wooden headboard. "Jesus Christ," he says.

 

Louis clambers up Harry's body a little gracelessly, sitting so that his legs are straddling Harry's lap and Harry's dick is snug against his bum. Harry's cock is so hard, drippy with it now, and when Louis reaches around to grab it at the base, he practically yelps.

 

"Sexy," Louis says, helpless against a giggle.

 

They fuck just like that: Louis on Harry's lap, Harry gripping his hips and looking up at him, totally transfixed. Louis had thought he was going to have to do all the work, but Harry's a champ, using his grip on Louis's sides to lift him up and down easily. His biceps strain with every movement, and Louis can't help but reach for them as he lets out little whimpers and hiccups of pleasure.

 

By the time they both finish - embarrassingly quickly by both of their standards - Harry's hair is sticking up at funny angles and they're both completely out of breath.

 

"Fucking hell," Harry groans, hissing as he pulls his sensitive cock out of Louis's bum. "So good with you."

 

Louis flushes at the compliment and then cracks up when Harry ties up the condom and tries to throw it in the bin by his door, missing by about two metres.

 

"Gross," Louis says, wrinkling his nose, which makes Harry lean forward and kiss it playfully.

 

"You're cute," he says.

 

"You're only saying that because you're orgasm high," Louis says. Objectively, they both look gross, flushed and sweaty and covered with Louis's sticky come between them.

 

Harry looks like he's about to say something, but then they both hear a soft meow, and then Harry's cat is jumping on the bed.

 

"Noooooo," Louis moans, grappling for the sheets and pulling it over their naked bodies so as not to scar poor Molly. "Was she here the whole time? _Again_?"

 

"Molly isn't great with boundaries," Harry says solemnly. "We're working on it."

 

"You are the worst," Louis says.

 

"You don't mean that," Harry says, batting his eyelashes ridiculously. He does gently nudge Molly off the bed, which lets Louis relax a bit. He also leaves to get a wet flannel and tosses it to Louis, who happily cleans off his stomach.

 

"Quick nap?" he suggests, and Harry nods. He's still completely nude, totally shameless about it. Even soft, his cock looks huge dangling between his legs.

 

Just before they're about to fall asleep, Harry nudges Louis from where he's curled up under Harry's chin.

 

"Whassit?" Louis mumbles grumpily. Post-sex naps should not be disrupted.

 

"You know I sometimes study at the cafe where you work," Harry says, voice so quiet Louis almost doesn't catch it. "I've seen you there a couple times but never got up the nerve to talk to you. When I saw you at the club, I knew that was my big chance."

 

Louis's too tired and sex-dazed to really process that, so he just laughs and swats Harry's arm. "You stalkin' me?" he says.

 

Harry laughs, too, and that's the last thing Louis's aware of before he drifts to sleep.

 

*

 

When he wakes up next, Harry's still dozing, and Louis's got an all-clear message from the City Police flashing on his phone.

 

He scribbles Harry the note he was always meant to - _Thanks for a fun time x Louis_ \- and leaves. He tries not to think about what Harry will think when he wakes up.

 

*

 

The weeks following the lockdown are strange, and not just for Louis. The whole city of London is understandably shaken up as more news comes in about the attack. The shooter doesn't have any ties to any major terrorist organisations, which eases nerves a bit, but still: London was attacked. It's not easy for anyone to wrap their heads around, and it leaves everyone feeling vulnerable. 

 

It's all anyone wants to talk about, and when the inevitable "Where were you?" question comes up, Louis always ducks it. It's not that he couldn't just tell his friends about Harry, but it doesn't feel right, somehow. In Louis's mind, Harry has become a totally separate entity to his actual life, someone he thinks about late at night, and only ever in the abstract. It would be weird to talk about him.

 

Except then one day, nearly three weeks after the lockdown, Louis's is working the register at the cafe by himself and Harry is _there_. Not some figment of his imagination, or a fever dream he conjured up under duress, but real, live Harry. He looks a bit nervous and very, very fit, fumbling nervously around a scarf in his hands. 

 

"Hey, Louis," he says. It's after lunchtime, and no one is in line behind him. Louis's the only one working, since it's their slowest hour and Jesy had just gone off on break.

 

"Hi, Harry," Louis says. "How've you been?"

 

"Um," Harry says. "Fine. Good. Y'know. You?"

 

"Just busy, mate," Louis says with a shrug. "You know how it is."

 

Harry nods and tucks his hands into his pockets. "You, uh, you were gone when I woke up, that day."

 

Louis stares at him, not comprehending. "The lockdown was over," he says. "I didn't want to wake you."

 

"Yeah, but," Harry says. He blushes a pretty, fascinating pink. "I thought - I mean, it was good, wasn't it?"

 

It _was_ good, obviously, and it hits Louis, suddenly, that it didn't have to be a one-night-stand. That it was Louis who had made it that way, who had suggested they leave it all there during the lockdown. Harry hadn't ever made it explicitly clear that he didn't want to see Louis again. 

 

 It was Louis who'd left.

 

"I know you said you just got out of a relationship - "

 

"You said you weren't looking for commitment, either," Louis says, because that much he knows is true.

 

"Well, I didn't want to freak you out!" Harry says. "I wasn't looking for anything, but like - we got along so well, and I like you so much, and we spent less than six hours together that day but I think we could really - "

 

He's cut off by the chime of the bell on the cafe's door, a group of kids walking in, probably just out of school. They're loud and rowdy and effectively kill the mood.

 

"Listen, never mind, this was probably really stupid of me. I shouldn't have come," Harry says hastily. "Could I just get a cup of coffee? I'll go."

 

Louis rings it up - he doesn't make Harry pay, despite his protests - and then grabs a to-go cup and hastily scribbles his number on it while Harry's looking determinedly at the ground. He feels exhilarated by it; he's never done anything like this before, taken a chance like this. Somehow he knows that Harry's going to have the ability to break his heart more than Marcus, more than anyone he'd ever been with - and yet, somehow, that doesn't seem all that scary at the moment. He hands over the coffee with a small smile, making sure the number is facing away from Harry, and Harry says a quick thanks before leaving, so that Louis can take the kid's orders.

 

Not ten minutes later, Louis's phone buzzes with a new text: _Not nice! I thought you'd rejected me back there._

Louis grins to himself. He feels fucking _fluttery_ inside.

 

_Not so! We have a game of Monopoly to finish. x_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: loupinoe


End file.
